Parental Advisory

Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we propose to posit prose poetry
forming a form of continuous connectivity,
to communicate considerable contemplative reflectivity.

Simply put, we pose this where
prose poetry is what you’ll hear
when wondering where the time went
while reading such rhyme wonderments
as oft are wrought, and revealed thusly,
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.

A More Perfect Union

I am a Union man, you know, 
though what I know will often show 
a certain existential flow 
that resonates an afterglow 
to left and right, above, below, 
in front, behind, to friend and foe 
as understanding where to go 
when one hears the sound, "Go Os!”

O Say! Can you see an average Joe 
who looks like me, from "Bal-ti-mo"; 
who'd write in verse, but isn't Poe, 
or any other poet?  So ... 

Now I say, and may repeat, 
this laborious little feat, 
considered a consequence 
of dropping dimes like 50s, since 
that's simply all I can afford, 
and like as not will reuse, restored 
beyond as they’re presented here 
in present form, within this sphere 
of ignominious influence 
where matters are, presently, dense 
as lead. What's said and done 
reveals content that is pure fun- 
damental form pertaining to 
retaining formal function.  You 
can say it now of little feat, 
a noun and an adjective, complete 
as they describe one man to all 
those whose feats aren't seen as small 
by one with whom they are compared. 
This little feat that you've just shared 
combines, compounds, raises the bet, 
between you, dear reader, and a poet.

Exploring who I am, and am not, 
reveals the fact that all I've got 
is what you see, and may elicit 
from me. Labor Omnia Vincit.